Lonesome Lullaby
by Amed
Summary: "Yes, he had made mistakes, and we argue and fight and not always see eye-to-eye. But that doesn't make him a bad father, it just makes him human" Anduin Wrynn. [Just a little one-shot with some family!fluff in honor of Father's day!] [R&R]


Hey! How are you?

Well, I haven't die (not yet) and I assure you there's a big update coming up soon!

But for now I give you this little one-shot, hope you like it and remember that english is not my first language. I checked and there shouldn't be any mistakes, but maybe something slip by. If you see any error, be polite and point them out so I can improve.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Warcraft doesn't belong to me, but to Blizzard entertainment. I make no money from this.

 **Warnings:** Sick!fic, Sick!Varian, Caring!Anduin, maybe some OOCness, Parents behaving like children and vise versa (admit it, it happens to everyone at some point), Father-Son dynamics, The Wrynns are stubborn as hell, but they can be sweet when they want to, a little bit of angst and humor mixed between the fluff!

 **Advice!:** I recommend you to listen to Adriana Figueroa's "Wanderer's Lullaby" (google it) while you read this. Not because it has anything to do with this fic, but just because I like it and I did listen to it while writhing.

* * *

His first memory was vague at best, tainted by knowledge and assumptions made as he grew older. It was such a far away thing he no longer was sure where the actual memory ended and the idea of it began.

He was around three or four years old, and he was held in his father's arms, being rocked to sleep while a lullaby echoed in the dead of a cold night.

Anduin knows that most of it is just expeculation. All he really remembers are his father's eyes and the distant humming of a lullaby; all the rest was just something his mind fabricated to give that image a context.

Was it even a lullaby what he had heard? He couldn't remember any words, so maybe it was something else? Has it been the humming of the wind and rain outside, softly patting the glass windows? Had he been confused by the sound of his father's heartbeat, right below his ear? Or was the lullaby simply from another memory that had somehow fuced with the first one as time went by?

He didn't know, how could he know? He never asked, never felt the need to. He still treasured that memory, however made up it may be.

"Hmm..." a low groan came from the bed besides him, and he closed the book he has been previously reading. Trying to, at least, his mind was too distracted to accomplish the task.

"Good evening father" he said smiling brightly, while the mope of dark-brow hair that was currently his father groaned again in response.

Varian Wrynn, King of Stormwind, slayer of dragons, former pit-fighter, Avatar of Goldrin, High King of the Alliance and loving father, was sick. Had been so for the last two days.

Even thou colds and the flu were not uncommon sickness in Stormwind, especially during the first weeks of Autumm or Spring, when the weather was most unstable, Anduin could not help but to find his father's current predicament amusing.

A plot to kill him, being split in two and glued back together, an army of undead, anger-control issues, deranged dragons, strange new lands, old gods and the whole might of the Horde had not stoped Varian, and yet a common cold has him bedridden. It was ironic and extremely hilarious.

It's not that Anduin does not care about his father's well-being, after all, he was the one who had dragged the man to his quarters and forced him to rest, as he wouldn't have done it on his own accord -the prince had learned from a young age that his progenitor was not good at taking care of himself-. It's just that the childish attitude the older Wrynn had displayed since being ordered to stay in bed was simply too humorous not to enjoy.

"What time it is?" Varian asked, pushing his long mane of hair off his face. His head was spinning and he could barely breath thanks to the congestion. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so bad and couldn't wait to get better.

"A little past one in the afternoon" Anduin answered, genuinely happy to see his father conscious since this morning, although part of him was having a hard time trying not to chuckle at the looks of him.

Varian's long mane of hair was a complete mess, tangled tresses sticking out at odd angles and framing his figure like a curtain. His face was flushed with watery-eyes and a running nose. His skin was paler and sweaty, and all in all he looked like any sick person would.

"What?!" knowing how late it was, the King tried to get up, coughing several time as his sore throat did not agree with the sudden outburst; must his attempts proven to be futile, as he was forcefully pushed back down by his own son.

Anyone who had seen both members of the royal family of Stormwind may have a hard time believing this, given the difference in contexture and physical strength in both males, but maybe it was a testimony of just how sick the older man was, that the prince had been able to restrain him so easily.

"You're not going anywhere. You need to rest" Anduin said in a stern voice, looking down on his father to let him know that there was no argument to be made.

A fight of wills started between father and son, equally stormy-blue eyes daring the other to try to defy him. Both were stubborn and neither was easily going to back down. The same thing had happen for the last two days, as the King did not enjoy being stuck in his quarters and the Prince was not going to let him get back to work.

Anduin narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, his father coping the posture soon after -and wasn't it funny how alike they looked just now?-, and they stayed looking at each other like that for a few more second, till a smirk slowly curled the blond boy's lips.

"Weren't you the one who told me that a King needs to be on his best state of mind and body to properly rule a kingdom?" well, those weren't _exactly_ the same words his father had used when Anduin himself had stubbornly refused to rest as a child, he was twisting them _a little bit_ , but the point was the same.

Varian's eyes widened at that and the Prince knew he had won this argument, _again_.

" _Don't_ use my words against me, boy" the King looked at the side, pouting, and Anduin did laugh this time. There was some kind of vindictive pleasure in tearing down one's parent's 'do what I say, not what I do' attitude -Anduin guessed all parents have, and should have, that to some degree.

Varian settled better in the bed, still pouting and refusing to look at his son who, for all intense and proposes, had betrayed him by forcing him to stay put. And yes, he knows he is acting like a spoiled child who just got grounded, but he hated the feeling of _uselessness_ that came with this. It reminded him too much of being The Landless King who nobody listened to, back at Lordaeron on his early teenage-hood.

But of course he wasn't going to tell Anduin about that _now_. The little traitor.

"As long as you behave, I won't have to" a smile still decorated the Prince's face, the indignant look his father send him only making it bigger.

He didn't stay to hear Varian's angry retort -or congestionated temper tantrum, more accurately- as he chose that moment to go get his father something to eat, and the medicine he will most likely have to force down the elder's throat -because sleeping drugs were alright, _but_ cold medicine was not-.

He laughed softly under his breath, he probably shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Anduin remembers clearly the first time he asked about his mother.

He had been 5 years of age, but had been wondering about her for a long time before actually inquiring. His father always tried to avoid mentioning her, but a comment had slipped here and there, a sad look always gracing his features, and Anduin always held back from asking, not wanting to upset the elder.

Varian had been depressed enough at that time, and he hadn't wanted to make it worse by asking.

It had been one afternoon, while he was sitting in a mattress in his father's office playing with his toys, his father signing papers on his desk, the only other occupants in the room being Lord Bolvar Fordragon and Lady Katrana Preston - _Onixya,_ he reminded himself-, when the curiosity got the better of him.

It was like the world had stopped once the words left his lips, Varian's eyes looking wide at him, fright and hurt shining in his stormy-blue irises -so much like his own.

It was Bolvar who actually answered his question, as his father had broke down crying, only able to ask the paladin to take Anduin away.

And Bolvar told him everything, and Anduin had been young, unable to really comprehend what death actually meant, and so he had _hated_ his mother at that time.

In his young mind it had been simple: he loved his father and wanted him happy, his mother made his father cry, ergo, he didn't like her.

Anduin knew now that things weren't so simple, that nothing was just black and white. But sometimes he couldn't help but to wish for everything to be like it was before.

"Have _you_ eaten anything?" the sudden question brought him out of his musings, making him realize that he had been staring into space, the book that he has yet to _start reading_ sitting on his lap, closed.

"Huh?" he wasn't going to admit that he had jumped a little from his position on the bedside chair, but there was no denying that he had paid no attention to what his father had asked.

Varian narrowed his eyes, hands holding the silverware stilling their movements while he analysed his son's eyes for any sign that something was wrong.

Anduin was glad to said that his father's condition had improved a lot. Although still sick, the King looked a lot better than he did yesterday.

His stormy-blue eyes were clearer, his hair had been brushed and braided to keep off of his face and his skin had gained more of his usual coloration. Yet the blush indicating a fever and the occasional sniffs and coughs were enough for the Prince to _still_ refuse to let him out of bed.

"Ah...It's alright, don't worry about it" no, he hadn't eaten yet, too preoccupied in getting what the elder needed to get better to paid attention to those things "I'll have something later" he shrugged it off, opening his book once more -maybe he'll be able to read it this time.

Varian's frown deepened, he didn't believed his son's words for even a second. Anduin was too much like himself, and whether that was a good or a bad thing was for others to decide.

He put down the silverware he was still holding, and pushed the tray with his lunch off his lap, placing it besides him, facing his boy.

"Eat" he ordered holding the silverware towards Anduin, his tone commanding and decisive even if the congestion made him sound a little funny.

Anduin looked from his father to the plate that was being offered to him, his stomach choosing that moment to remind him that he was hungry. But he noticed that everything was practically untouched, his father had only taken two or three bites at best.

"No. Father, you need it more than I do" he shocked his head, denying the offer. He wasn't the one sick after all.

Varian looked angrily at the ceiling, cursing himself for raising such a stubborn and sweet child.

"How about this? We share" he proposed offering the silverware once again, encouraging his son to take it.

The Prince sighed in surrender, a soft smile decorating his lips while he climbed on top of the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of the tray of food, and finally taking the silverware from the King's hand.

Both knew that the other knew that they were going to make sure the other ate most of it. Didn't stop them from trying.

/-/-/-/-/-/

It was a nightmare, ironically, the only other place where he remembers hearing that lullaby from his childhood.

Everything was dark, and he was alone. No one came when he called, desperate cries tearing at his throat, fear crawling at his spine the longer he spend in solitude. And then that lullaby could be heard in the distance, still just a humming of words he couldn't comprehend, and Anduin knew that it was his father humming the lullaby.

So he runs and runs towards that sound, but he can never reach it; and the walls start to closing in on him, and he runs faster, but it's useless, he can't get to his father.

The walls imprison him, the darkness suffocating him and he is _alone_.

He was 10 years old when he first had that nightmare, on the night of the day when they found out that Varian was missing, lost on his way to Theramore to discuss a possible peace treaty between Horde and Alliance.

Anduin hadn't had time to mourn as soon as he heard the news. Everyone was too worried about what to do with the kingdom, and the kingdom was far more important than one child's grief, especially when that child was to be the new King.

He was 10 years old, and a world that his father had tried to keep separated from him for as long as possible suddenly swallowed him. And there was no one to help, Bolvar had tried, but he had his own responsibilities to take care of in the mess they were left with, and so he had been on his own.

The nightmare had attacked him almost every night since then, the feeling of searching for something that he could never find plaguing him even in his waking hours, till his father got back, and everything was better.

Yet that wasn't the only occasion when he had that nightmare, and every time he did, Anduin questioned his desire to be a King.

He knows he will have to be one, and he tries hard to become a good one, but at the back of his mind he doesn't _want_ to be one -not for now, at least-, because if he were a King, that means that his father was no longer with him, and Anduin never fells more alone than whenever that possibility crosses his mind, whenever he has that nightmare.

Like last night.

"How are you feeling?" his question was barely over a whisper, and his father didn't bother answering, it was obvious he wasn't feeling well.

A relapse on his sickness, brought due to the sudden change of whether, that had gone from mildly cold to extremely cold and raining at a moment's notice, had landed the King with a high fever, rendering him hopeless, stealing even his strength to complain about the situation.

The Prince changed the wet towel on his father's forehead, clouded stormy-blue eyes opening just a sliver to look up at him, and he tried to smile. A pathetic attempt, he was sure, even if he couldn't see it himself.

"You know..." the elder's breath was labored, struggling each time to get air to his lungs, chest heaving from the exertion "You were six years old when you first spend a night alone" yet there was a smile decorating his lips, the fever-induced tears making his eyes shine in the soft glow of the candlelight.

Anduin snorted at the random comment, deciding to take up Varian's offer of small talk, placing the book that by now he knows he will never be able to read on the nightstand.

"Six years, huh?" was that normal? He couldn't be sure, his lack of interaction with people his own age sure left a gap on his knowledge.

He had known about not having a nursery, his crib being placed on his father's bedroom -this same bedroom- and of spending lightning-storms-filled nights cuddling close to his father's warmth, feeling protected and secure.

Varian shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't much care, and he honestly didn't. He had been happy to have his baby with him at that time, safe and sound, and that was all that had mattered back then. It was all that mattered _now_ as well, but he knew that Anduin was capable of taking care of himself -he still worried thou, he always will.

"I liked to have you with me and you stopped wetting the bed when you were around four, so I didn't see much point in getting you your own bed" he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the room spinning around him, but he kept his smile, if only for appearance sake.

Anduin blushed at the bed wetting comment. He remembered the reason why he never asked much about his childhood, the embarrassment his father's comments and anecdotes brought him could be too much at times. Right now it was bearable.

"What made you change your mind?" he asked, crossing his legs, resting his left elbow on his knee, hand supporting his head. He'd rather take the humiliation of a tale about his younger self than deal with the despair that came from wondering too much about his father's condition.

"I didn't " Varian opened his eyes again, fully this time, turning his head to face his son, the same smile on his lips "Bolvar forced me to"

His smile wavered a little, sadness crawling in his eyes, and Anduin shared the sentiment. Bolvar Fordragon was a...delicate subject for them. Someone that had been such a constant feature in their lives, and who they both loved dearly, wasn't someone they could forget easily, even if it's been six years since he was gone.

"He literally had to drag me to my own quarters that night" a bittersweet nostalgia laced the King's smile, feverish eyes looking at an undefined point on the comforter at his lap "I was so _sure_ something would happen if I left you alone for even just one night. I couldn't sleep much from the paranoia"

Varian chuckled at the memory. He had been ridiculous at that time, he knows that, but he couldn't help it. His precious baby was all that he had, and if something were to happen to him, what little was left of the man he had been would had vanished. What little was left of him right now was held together precariously, tired by too many loses, by too much struggles. The desire to bring a brighter future for his son and his kingdom was the only thing keeping him whole.

But Anduin didn't need to know that.

"But nothing happened" he looked back at his son, a proud smile decorating his lips. He adored this boy, the only good thing he has ever made "Nothing ever did.

"The next morning, you came running into my room" his vision started to get hazy, and he blinked to try to stay focused, he wanted to finish his tale "You jumped on top of me, right on my stomach, yelling at me to get up

"I just had like, two hours of sleep, and you were this insistent ball of energy, and I just wanted too..." Anduin chuckled a little, though his father didn't say it out loud, he was sure he had wanted to strangle him at that moment.

"We went on a picnic that day" Varian settled better beneath the covers, voice lowering to a whisper and closing his eyes "The first day I took you to Goldshire"

Anduin waited a moment to see if his father would said anything more, but when nothing came, he assumed the tale was finished. He settled back on his chair, untangling his limbs. Hands closing in tight fists while a deep sense of despair formed at the pit of his stomach.

The silence in the room suddenly felt deafening, even if the heavy storm still going on outside made the windows shake on their frames.

It was too late, although precisely how late the Prince didn't know. But it was late and it was cold and it was dark, the soft glow of the candlelight not enough to make the darkness surrounding him go away.

He suddenly felt suffocated, and he tried to push that feeling down, taking deep, evened breaths. This was stupid. He was sixteen years old, for the Light's sake! Almost seventeen. He was too old to let an irrational fear from his childhood control him so.

His father was _fine_. Sick, yes, but it was _just a cold._ He'll get better, there was _nothing_ to worry about.

"You never told me that" he said almost in a rush, exhaling heavily. He needed to hear his father's voice, just to be reassured that he was fine, alive and breathing. It was stupid, but he needed it.

Varian smirked at the comment, and Anduin could breath more easily then. Hazy stormy-blue eyes opened just a little to peak at him, and he was never so glad to have the exact same eyes as he was now.

"You never asked" was the simple response.

Varian went back to sleep and Anduin bit his lips to prevent himself from saying anything more. His father needed to rest and he couldn't keep him awake just to reassure some petty fears he was having.

He stayed looking over his father for what felt like hours, knuckles going white from the force he put on tightening his fists. And yet he was shaking, unblinking stormy-blue eyes fixated on the figure on the bed, afraid that it'll be gone if he were to close them for even just a second.

This was ridiculous! His whole logical mind was _yelling_ at him to _get over it_. But he couldn't. He tried, damn it! But he couldn't, the fear was too great.

Great enough to make him cry, sobbing like a hopeless child, and crawl on the bed. He settled on his father's side, atop the covers, pulling his knees towards his chest and hands gripping tightly the sheets resting over his father's chest.

He closed his eyes, refusing to see the reality, because this was _not happening._ He must look so pathetic right now, but he ignored it, resting his head under his father's chin and focusing on the raise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and the steady thumbing of his heartbeat.

Anduin started humming those unknown words of that lullaby, holding Varian tightly and pleading to the Light, to anyone that would hear him, to please, _please_ not leave him alone.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Awareness slowly came to Anduin Wrynn and he moaned tiredly, burrowing deeper in the warm sheets. The more awake he became, the more he remembered about last night, and he noticed he had fallen asleep _on top_ of the covers, not _under_ them.

He sat up with a start, eyes looking frantically for his father when he realized he wasn't beside him. Desperation started to grow in his chest, breaths starting to leave him rapidly, the fears from last night still vivid in his mind and the feelings of being tiny in a big, empty room was overwhelming.

Everything was fine, nothing could have happened. Right?

"Morning, sleepy head" the voice of his father sounded loud and clear, and Varian came into the room finishing to fasten his blue and gold vest.

Anduin looked at him wide eyed. The King looked fine, the only sign of his sickness being his voice, still a little raw from all the coughing. But there was no fever, no glassy eyes looking at him. Nothing. The man was regal in his garments, hair still a little wet and tied in his usual high ponytail, and looking like the picture of perfect health.

The Prince sighed relieved, slumping back down into the pillows. He felt silly for worrying just now, of course his father was _fine_.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked, blinking tired eyes and trying to stay awake. He felt warm and sleepy, and a little mad at his father for not waking him up, leaving him to worry when he woke up alone.

"You looked like you needed the rest" Varian smiled softly, chuckling internally at the angry undertone in his son's voice.

"Ugh..." Anduin groaned in discomfort, he wasn't feeling so well, and when he sniffed, he blamed his father "I think a caught your cold"

The King's smile brightened at the adorable image his son made. Really, it should be no surprise the boy was sick, what with the way it had rained last night and him falling asleep on top of the cover; but he couldn't bring himself to scold him, not when he knew the reason why Anduin had done that.

"Come on, you need to rest" he neared the bed and pushed his son back on it, finding no resistance, pulling the covers back over the Prince's shoulders.

"Yeah, just...for a while" Anduin had a lot of things to do, like checking to see if his father's sickness was really gone or catching up on the lessons he had neglected on the past days, preferring to look after his progenitor. He couldn't rest now, but...maybe...just for a moment.

Varian laughed softly when his son fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, curling on his side and hugging said pillow tightly. He caresses his hair, pushing blond tresses away to feel his forehead. The boy was a little warm, but nothing that some rest and a warm meal couldn't cure.

He moved away from the bed to go ask a servant to bring them breakfast to his quarters, returning immediately to his son's side, sitting on the same chair the boy had sat on for the last few days.

The dark-brunet man was no fool, he knew it was strange that his cold had vanished from one night to the other. And he really wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but he remembers a dream from last night...well, not really a dream, more like a sensation of being filled by a warm light that burned away all trace of the sickness.

Looking at Anduin right now, Varian didn't need to know more. He has his explanation.

He leaned back on the chair, picking up the book his son had left on the nightstand. He opened it to an specific page, where the lyrics of a lullaby, that could be traced back to when The Kingdom of Stormwind had first been founded, was neatly written.

He started humming the words of that lullaby that he had loved since his mother had sang it to him as a child, rocking him to sleep in her arms in the dead of a cold night.

The End.

* * *

So, did you like it?

I was kind of sick of all those fics that portrait Varian as a bad father, I mean, he's not perfect, but he's definitely not _bad_. It's like those people never had a fight with their parents, or even a disagreement, 'cuz it certainly feels like they can't understand that parents are _people_ too, and bound to make mistakes just as everyone else.

So, this is mainly the reason why I wrote this n.n

Also, I thought It'll be fun to see Anduin taking care of a sick Varian. We all have to take care of our parents at some point, and they tend to act stubbornly when they are told what to do by their own children. The shift in power can't be easy, right?

At last, this was especially made in honor of Father's Day, which was this 21th (at least in this part of the world), so don't forget to give your dad a big hug!

And by the way, what is _your_ first memory? Mine is holding my father's hand, my sister holding his other hand, and walking up the stairs of the hospital to go meet my little brother for the first time.

So tell me yours and/or your opinion in a review! Have a great day and take care!

C'ya! n.n


End file.
